deceiving her; and that was what she told me the footman told her:--that Mrs. Huntingdon was going to be married on Thursday, and Mr. Lawrence was gone to the wedding. She did tell me the name of the gentleman, but I've forgotten that. Perhaps you can assist me to remember it. Is there not some one that lives near--or frequently visits the neighbourhood, that has long been attached to her? a Mr.--oh dear!--Mr.--'

`Hargrave?' suggested I, with a bitter smile.

`You're right!' cried she, `that was the very name.'

`Impossible, Miss Eliza!' I exclaimed in a tone that made her start.

`Well, you know, that's what they told me,' said she, composedly staring me in the face. And then she broke out into a long shrill laugh that put me to my wits' end with fury.

`Really, you must excuse me,' cried she: `I know it's very rude, but ha, ha, ha!--Did you think to marry her yourself? Dear, dear, what a pity! ha, ha, ha!--Gracious, Mr. Markham! are you going to faint? O mercy! shall I call this man? Here, Jacob--' But checking the word on her lips, I seized her arm and gave it, I think, a pretty severe squeeze, for she shrank into herself with a faint cry of pain or terror; but the spirit within her was not subdued: instantly rallying, she continued, with well feigned concern--

`What can I do for you? Will you have some water--some brandy?--I dare say they have some in the public-house down there, if you'll let me run.'

`Have done with this nonsense!' cried I sternly. She looked confounded--almost frightened again, for a moment. `You know I hate such jests,' I continued.

`Jests indeed! I wasn't jesting!'

`You were laughing, at all events; and I don't like to be laughed at,' returned I, making violent efforts to speak with proper dignity and composure, and to say nothing but what was coherent and sensible. `And since you are in such a merry mood, Miss Eliza, you must be good enough company for yourself, and therefore I shall leave you to finish your walk alone--for, now I think of it, I have business elsewhere; so good evening.'

With that I left her (smothering her malicious laughter) and turned aside into the fields, springing up the bank, and pushing through the nearest gap in the hedge. Determined at once to prove the truth-- or rather the falsehood of her story, I hastened to Woodford as fast as my legs could carry me--first, veering round by a circuitous course, but the moment I was out of sight of my fair tormentor, cutting away across the country, just as a bird might fly--over pastureland and fallow, and stubble, and lane-- clearing hedges and ditches, and hurdles, till I came to the young squire's gates. Never till now had I known the full fervour of my love--the full strength of my hopes, not wholly crushed even in my hours of deepest despondency, always tenaciously clinging to the thought that one day she might be mine--or if not that, at least that something of my memory, some slight remembrance of our friendship and our love would be for ever cherished in her heart. I marched up to the door, determined if I saw the master, to question him boldly concerning his sister, to wait and hesitate no longer, but cast false delicacy and stupid pride behind my back, and know my fate at once.

`Is Mr. Lawrence at home?' I eagerly asked of the servant that opened the door.

`No sir, master went yesterday,' replied he, looking very alert.

`Went where?'

`To Grassdale, sir--wasn't you aware, sir? He's very close, is master,' said the fellow with a foolish, simpering grin. `I suppose, sir--'